


i finally found my home in you

by falloutmars



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Jughead POV, Melancholy, Pining, a summer back in riverdale, after first year of college, hints at mutual pining, sorting himself out with some help along the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:15:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falloutmars/pseuds/falloutmars
Summary: It was always almost.He almost kissed her in 10th grade. He almost confessed his feelings in 11th grade. He almost asked her to prom in 12th grade.And he almost kissed her at the end of summer party before college.Almost. But he never did.Until he does.–or, being back in Riverdale comes with its challenges and one unexpected charm
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	i finally found my home in you

**Author's Note:**

> AH this is a super long (for me) oneshot and i apologize in advance for the length BUT i hope you enjoy it! despite the melancholy tag, there isn't really any angst between betty & jughead. and a happy ending of course <3 family moments, bughead moments, and my favorite bughead shipper: pop tate.

It was always almost. 

He _almost_ kissed her in 10th grade. He _almost_ confessed his feelings in 11th grade. He _almost_ asked her to prom in 12th grade. 

And he _almost_ kissed her at the end of summer party before college. 

Almost. But he never did. 

Until he does.

–

Leaving Riverdale is one of the best things Jughead’s ever done. And one of the hardest. On one hand, that godforsaken town ruined him, ruined his faith in humanity and in life. But his family’s there. His father and his younger sister. And he misses them dearly. 

So going back for the summer is a no-brainer. He needs a break from the pace of life down in the city, and surely there’s no better (or worse?) place to do that than his hometown.

His thinking is that he can spend some quality time with his family. Maybe catch up with a few old friends if anyone’s around. And most importantly, rest. Plus, he’s sure Pop will let him pick up the odd shift at the diner again as he did last summer, so he can make a bit of money to take the weight off when he does head back to college. 

_(If_ he heads back to college.)

It’s a solid plan. 

One that does not involve bumping into an old friend.

–

He arrives back at the ever-so familiar Riverdale coach station at just after 11 pm on a Friday evening. He’d thought about staying the night at college after his final exam, but quite honestly, he’d had enough of the hustle and bustle of the city and just wanted an out. Hence the late-night arrival.

Nodding a thanks to the driver, he lugs his oversized bag behind him and off of the bus. It’s dark out, but it only seems to add to the comfort he wishes he felt for the place he once called home. 

(He still does call it home. It’s just laced with bitterness and pain, rather than nostalgia and longing.)

As expected, FP is waiting outside for him. In a police car. Seems like that Sheriff thing stuck after all. It makes Jughead chuckle to himself as he wanders over, swinging the door open and chucking his bag over the back.

“Hey, Dad,” he says, tiredness seeping into his voice.

FP smiles. “It’s good to see you, boy.” 

On the short drive home, FP asks him more questions than he had in the 18 years previous. It’s strange in a way, but nice in another. Comforting to finally have a parent who cares, but draining to have to answer all of the questions he has. 

That’s what he gets, he supposes, for forgetting to call. 

(If you can call purposely putting it off due to a constant sense of guilt and hurt you just can’t shake off when you think about speaking to your once-estranged father _forgetting_.)

They don’t drive to Sunnyside trailer park. That’s not where the Jones’ call home anymore. With FP’s position as sheriff, he finally gathered enough money together to buy a small house on the north side of town. Away from the Serpents, away from everything Jughead had ever known, away from their livelihood. 

The house is okay though. Anything would’ve been a step up from the shitty trailer the two of them used to occupy. It was four for a while when Gladys dropped back into their lives only to leave JB behind before taking off again. That’s what prompted FP to move, Jughead thinks, but of course him with his lack of communication means he doesn’t know.

(Sometimes he wonders if there’s anything he truly knows, but that’s not a path he chooses to delve down very often.)

A fresh start on the northside meant a better chance for JB. She deserves it, but some part of him can’t help the resentment that seems through thinking about it. _He_ deserved it, too. Why wasn’t that enough? Why was he never enough?

(He made it to college regardless of his situation, though. That’s something to be proud of.)

They pull up into the driveway of the house. An actual driveway. In an actual police car. In the hometown he once never wanted to return to. _Life is weird_.

“I have to drop the car back to the station,” FP says nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing, “but Jelly’s waiting for you inside.”

Jughead nods. He doesn’t really know what to say. This place doesn’t feel like home. The house, he thinks, nor the town. It’s making him want to go. Not back to NYC, but to a place that _feels_ like home. 

(He doesn’t think that place exists.)

Instead, he gets out of the car, thanking his dad. He grabs the bag from the backseat, dragging it behind him up to the front door. The headlights of the car get smaller against the brick as FP reverses out until they swing past him and disappear into the night.

He doesn’t have a key of his own, so he knocks on the door.

JB answers with a grin. She barely lets him through before she tackles him into a hug, mumbling, “I missed you, big bro.”

He wraps his arms around her. “I missed you, too.”

She pulls back, still grinning, and launches into what sounds like a pre-prepared list of stories she has to tell him. She sounds excited, _happy_ , and Jughead doesn’t want to ruin the moment, but all he wants to do is collapse into bed. It’s been a long, long day, and he’s exhausted. Part of him wonders how he’s still standing upright.

Having said that, her happiness is almost contagious. He finds himself laughing along despite the heaviness weighing him down. 

When FP comes back half an hour later, he sends both of his children to bed, telling them they can talk more in the morning. Jughead is glad for it really. As much as it is lovely to see his family again, it’s been a long day, and he’s finding it strange being back in this place again. Too many emotions all at once. He’s much used to feeling nothing at all.

He traipses up the stairs—something he still isn’t used to—and into his room. His own room. It doesn’t feel like his, despite having spent months prior to leaving for college in it. He just never really got around to making it his own.

All the walls are white. It’s too clinically clean for his liking, so he digs out of his bag the poster he’d bought in the city of _Rebel Without A Cause_. He finds some old sticky tack in the drawer, lumps together four pieces for each corner, and sticks it up. 

Taking a step back, he breathes a sigh of relief. Something familiar is what he wanted. _Needed_.

He decides that unpacking can wait until tomorrow, but he does need to find something to wear as pajamas. Luckily, there’s an old t-shirt he must’ve left behind in the drawer, so he picks that up and considers heading to the bathroom. 

For a moment, he thinks about forgoing brushing his teeth. Except he’s an _adult_ now and that feels like the right thing to do. With a sigh, he grabs his washbag, thankfully at the top of his bag.

Ten minutes later, he’s in bed. 

Two hours later, he’s still awake.

He thinks about being back here; here as in this house and here as in Riverdale. He thinks about what it means. (Does it have to mean something?)

He wonders what it’ll be like. He had this great plan, but he’s not naive enough to believe everything will go right. Especially as a Jones and especially in a town like this. Yet he’ll try. This weekend, he’s decided, he’ll have off to spend with his family, and then on Monday, he’ll see about that job. After that, he’ll think about seeing who’s home, if anyone, but one step at a time. 

(Jughead falls asleep whilst his brain is stuck in the past.)

–

A soft knock at his bedroom door wakes him up at 10. 

FP pokes his head around, cautiously entering the room holding a cup of steaming coffee. “Sorry if I woke you,” he says in a distinctly un-FP manner.

Jughead rubs his eyes, forcing himself to sit up. He takes the coffee, immediately taking a sip. The heat burns his tongue. (The pain is surprisingly comforting.)

FP clears his throat. “JB has made us pancakes—if you can call them that.”

He laughs. “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Are you… okay?”

It shocks Jughead slightly. And he doesn’t know how to answer. Not only is he decidedly _not_ good at talking about his feelings, but he’s especially bad at talking to FP about this kind of stuff. Plus, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know if he’s okay.

So he just shrugs. 

FP nods almost knowingly. “I don’t say it often, but I’m proud of you, Jug.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he says with a small smile. And he means it.

–

Downstairs, they eat as a family. A rarity. If he’s being honest, Jughead’s not sure if he can remember the last time they did this. Not at Thanksgiving nor at Christmas. It feels weird, unnatural. 

Due to his absence, though, there is no shortage of conversation. It may not flow as well as they’d all wish, but there are no awkward silences. Jughead talks about college, his course, the city, his new friends. JB talks about school, what music she’s listening to now, hell, JB can and does talk about anything. 

FP stays mostly quiet. 

(Maybe he’s finding it weird too, Jughead thinks.)

Once they’ve stomached enough of JB’s pancakes as possible, everyone disperses into their own activities. JB runs upstairs, only for loud music to be making its way through the house a second later, and FP goes into the makeshift office, presumably to do some work, so Jughead decides to do the dishes. It’s the least he can do, and it’ll act as some kind of temporary distraction. 

That afternoon, he forces himself to have a shower and unpack. For all the fuss he made, it takes less than half an hour, ever-so-slightly lifts the darkness in his head, and with more nick nacks he’d acquired over the year in the city scattered around his room, he feels more like himself.

For now, anyway. Always for now.

He goes to bed earlier that night after another family meal of takeout from Pop’s. If it’s something he’s going to have to get used to over the summer, he thinks he’ll be okay. He’ll be okay acting like a normal family. He’s good at make-believe. 

–

Sunday goes much the same. Forced family time, an attempt at self-care, trying to be normal. And soon enough, Jughead’s weekend off is over, and Monday morning is here.

(In a way, he’s relieved, ready to _do_ something. But he’s also terrified. Of who he’ll see, of what’ll happen.)

He walks to Pop’s the long way. Via Sunnyside trailer park, and via the river. Two places he feels some kind of connection to. 

The trailer park is where he grew up. Shit childhood or not, he has still, to this day, spent the majority of his time alive there. Playing with Toni Topaz at 5 years old, sneaking Hot Dog into his trailer without his parents noticing, swiping more food than necessary at the park’s BBQs. 

All the good memories are paired with bad ones, though. Toni Topaz being forced to move away by her uncle, getting yelled at when Hot Dog made a mess on his bed, getting threatened by the Serpents when there wasn’t enough food for everyone. 

So maybe he has a connection to this place, but maybe that isn’t all good.

(Sometimes, he thinks, connections don’t have to be good. Sometimes, just being somewhere familiar is enough.)

Sweetwater River is different. Most memories of this place are ones filled with happiness. Games with his friends after school, late-night parties he wasn’t really meant to attend but did anyway. The last summer before college was spent mostly here. Good times, _amazing_ times, now all laced with bittersweetness. 

He misses it. Everything felt so complicated yet nothing had ever been so simple, nor will it ever be that simple again. 

(He misses being happy. He misses being happy with other people.

He misses the past.)

Leaving the river behind, he finally heads towards Pop’s Chock’lit Shoppe.

As the familiar neon sign comes into view, Jughead second-guesses himself. Is this what he wants? Does he know what he wants?

He stops in the parking lot.

What is he doing?

(Has he ever known?)

He closes his eyes.

_You can do this_ , a voice in his mind says, one that distinctly—and oddly—sounds like his father. 

With a deep breath, he walks through the door, smiling at the noise the bell makes. He missed this place. He missed the comforting sounds, the smell, and Pop himself. Who appears almost immediately from behind the counter.

“Jughead!” he beams, that familiar face from the past that doesn’t bring back bad memories. “My favorite customer is back in town. How are you?”

His genuine happiness radiates through the whole building, forcing a smile out of Jughead. “I’m fine, Pop,” he finds himself saying before the truth can get out. “I’m actually here for a favor.” 

(Cut straight to it, he thinks.)

“What can I do for you?”

Jughead slides onto a stool at the counter. “Is there any chance I can pick up a few shifts this summer?”

“Oh, Jughead,” he says softly. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Pop gives him the pick of shifts over the next two weeks. He chooses night shifts. He prefers the anonymity of the darkness, the lack of familiar customers. Those who come at night are different from those in the day. They tend to be more content to sit alone and do their own thing. Often, they come and go within no more than half an hour.

(That suits Jughead. He can do his job without having to fake happiness. He does enough of that at home already.)

After sorting out his shifts, Pop insists on getting Jughead a burger and a milkshake. Of course, he remembers his order perfectly. A cheeseburger with all of the toppings, a side of fries, and a chocolate milkshake. Jughead doesn’t have the heart to tell him he prefers coffee now, so he stomachs the milkshake. 

On the way out, he thanks Pop again.

“Don’t be late, Jughead,” he replies with a smile, reaching an arm over the counter to pat him on the shoulder. 

He can’t help but smile back. “Never, Pop,” he promises. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

–

Jughead sleeps for most of Tuesday. Hell, he’ll need it before a night shift, but really, he knows it’s just an excuse. It’s easier to tell his dad that he’s getting in enough sleep before work than the truth. 

(The truth is… he’s exhausted. He’s exhausted in a way sleep won’t fix.)

To make up for it, he has dinner with FP and JB before he goes to work. He’ll make a habit of it, he thinks, or at least try to. That is, after all, part of the reason he came back here. 

They eat lasagne that FP made. It isn’t from a microwavable packet like Jughead remembers from his childhood, it’s handmade from scratch with the help of his youngest child. And it’s good. It’s a good dinner despite the bitterness that sticks in his throat knowing _he_ didn’t get this at 16. 

Instead of letting the past ruin the present, Jughead smiles through it, bouncing insults back and forth with JB. 

By some swipe of fate, he gets to leave before the dishes need doing. He’s not sure he could cope with such a fake distraction again, so he excuses himself to _get ready_. In reality, he takes the last five minutes before he has to leave to compose himself.

Yesterday, he somehow managed to not bump into anyone from his old life, but today, he’s not sure he’ll be lucky enough.

He arrives at the diner early. Always early.

It’s almost empty, apart from someone hiding out with a plate of fries and a milkshake in the corner. 

(Not anyone he recognizes, thank god.)

Pop smiles at him when he walks in. 

“Told you I’d be on time,” Jughead tries to joke, hovering by the counter.

“I never doubted you,” Pop chuckles, gesturing for Jughead to follow him.

He does. It’s not unfamiliar. He spent the whole of last summer working this job, similar shift patterns and all, but now it feels different. Maybe _he_ feels different. College changes people, or so he’s heard. 

(Or maybe it’s being back. Maybe he’s outgrown this place. Maybe the memories are too suffocating.)

The first two hours leading up until midnight consist of getting used to the ropes again. He’s reminded of how to use the coffee machine, how to make a milkshake, and how big each slice of pie should be. If there are any other food orders, they hire a chef for that. 

Everything is pretty straight forward, and he’s quick to get into the swing of things again. 

Doing something so familiar is comforting in a way he didn’t expect. Pouring coffee, wiping tables, putting out menus. He’s done it before; it’s like muscle memory. His brain has something to focus on, something he’s _good_ at. And it’s exactly what he needs. 

He finds himself enjoying his job. He talks to the lone customers who come in, people who have never seen him before, and probably will never see him again. He can be who he wants, not who people know him as. 

(That’s something he’s finding difficult to do in normal life. At college, no one knew him _before_ , so he’s carefully constructing a new, better Jughead. Here, though, in Riverdale, people know him, they know his family. And there are expectations attached to that. But it’s something he needs to face. That’s why he’s here. He needs to find a place to call home again. A home where he is who he wants to be.

And what’s a better way to do that than to work in the same job you did one year ago?)

A little after midnight sees the steady stream of customers slow. The diner empties out, leaving just Jughead and Pop. 

“How’s college?” asks Pop as he wipes over the counter for what must be the eighth time tonight. They do that a lot here. Wiping tables. The repetition is nice.

But… There's the question Jughead had been dreading. Telling his family about college meant he could pick and choose the details. But the direct questioning, the _how_ , an answer escapes him. 

_It’s not what I thought. I’m trying to change but I don’t know who I am, so now I’m back in the only place I’ve ever known. It’s not home and it’s suffocating me, but college was, too. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I want to go back. But if I don’t, then what? I’ll eternally be stuck in this cycle if I don’t use the way out I have. But what if that’s not what I want anymore? Do I know what I want?_

Instead, he takes a deep breath and looks at Pop with a distinct sadness in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he whispers. 

He doesn’t know what it is about Pop that makes him want to admit all. Maybe it’s the way he acted like a father to him when his own father was… preoccupied. Or maybe it’s because he’s the only person to ever believe in him. 

“You don’t have to know,” Pop replies with a tiny smile before wiping down the counter once again.

_You don’t have to know._

It’s not a revolution, nor is it a groundbreaking answer, but those words stick with Jughead. They whirl around his head for the rest of his shift. They resonate with him. 

_You don’t have to know._

(He wishes someone would’ve told him sooner.)

–

Before work on Wednesday evening, he spends some quality time with JB. They play a game together while FP is at work, and make a mess of the kitchen trying to make dinner. 

“Who knew fried chicken was so difficult to make?” JB says through a fit of giggles. Her shirt is entirely covered in flour, some even sprinkled on her hair, and she seems truly happy.

Jughead’s laughing, too. A real laugh, one he’s not sure he’s done much recently. And it feels _good_ , like some of the weight on his shoulders has been lifted off. He’s not happy; he doesn’t know if he’ll ever truly be happy, but he thinks he’s going in the right direction. 

(Sometimes temporary happiness is enough.)

“I think this is why Pop hires a professional chef to do this,” he grins, poking her in the side, “and _not_ me.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re right, for once.”

They burst into a fit of giggles again, right as FP walks through the door.

“What the hell is going on in here?” he says in his trying-to-be-angry voice. He poorly hides a smile while laughs continue echoing around the room before eventually, he gives in and laughs with them. 

After a moment, once the laughs die down, FP looks over at JB and then at Jughead. With a sly grin, he pulls out a paper bag from under the jacket he placed on the kitchen table when he came in. “Good job I got Pop’s.”

Jughead looks over at JB. “Did you tell him?” Face flushing a light red color, she nods and shrugs. 

“You little…” He bolts towards her and she starts running away, so he chases her, just as he used to do when they were kids. They run around the small ground floor of the house, screaming and giggling as if they were children once again.

(Part of Jughead wishes he were still a child. Young, unaware, fearless.)

They make it back into the kitchen after doing a lap of the house to three plates of food as set out by FP, who’s sitting at the table, already halfway through his own food. He rolls his eyes when they speed back in.

“Thanks, Dad!” JB says, sliding into one of the chairs. She looks over at Jughead, shoving fries into her mouth. “Truce?”

He nods and leans over to scruffle her hair, just as he did when they were younger, before sitting down and tucking into his food.

–

Arriving at work with a slight spring in his step, Jughead finds himself smiling when he walks through the door to the familiar bell. 

“Well, well,” Pop chuckles, “someone’s in a good mood today.”

As he wanders behind the counter, pulling on his apron, he says, “It’s good to be back,” and he means it.

(It’s the first day, he thinks, he’s happy to be back in Riverdale.)

With the diner quiet, there isn’t much for Jughead to do at first, but he still manages to make sure everything is clean and the menus straight on every table. He and Pop chat idly whilst he potters around, making the first few hours of his shift fly by.

He takes a short break at just after midnight, sipping a far too strong coffee and scribbling on the back of one of the menus he just adjusted. 

For the first time in what must be months, Jughead writes for himself. 

He writes something _happy_ , something that isn’t an essay or a forced creative piece. He writes about color and light and the way the night doesn’t have to be melancholy. 

And he believes what he’s writing. He believes he can feel this happiness and not be guilty over it. He believes not everything has to be sad, and he believes that includes _him_.

The shitty pen he uses to write down orders flows across the thin paper of the menu in a way his expensive fountain pen never has and never will flow across his 100gsm _made for writing_ paper. His preferred way to write is by hand, yet the perils of college have forced him to get used to typing away at his laptop.

This, though, this feels good. It’s exactly what he needs, words spinning in his brain almost too fast for him to put pen to paper.

His short break should only last 10 minutes or so, but he gets so into writing, he accidentally takes 20. Pop doesn’t mind, he knows this, nor does he say anything when Jughead looks up at the clock with wide eyes. 

He makes up for it anyway, telling Pop he can manage out front alone if he wants to take his own break.

(He does, so Jughead can push away the rising guilt.)

With just one customer sitting in the far corner sipping a bottomless cup of coffee, he takes a cloth and the cafetiere over to the stranger.

“More coffee?” he offers, wiping the next booth along.

“No, thanks,” the person replies, pushing their mug away as they stand up and walk away. The bell signals their departure, leaving the diner empty.

Shaking his head, he chuckles to himself. “No worries, then. At least I can wipe your table down.”

He wipes across the table, hopping across to grab another couple of menus from behind the counter. They get placed in exactly the right position, and the mug removed. 

Collecting the cafetiere, the empty mug, and the cloth in one hand, he slides everything onto the counter behind him. And just as he goes to turn around to resume his usual position looking out for any new customers, a familiar voice rings through the room.

“Table for one, please.”

He does spin around this time, facing none other than Betty Cooper. 

His mouth hangs open, ever so slightly curled up into a smile. He cannot quite believe his eyes, or his luck, today.

“Betty?” he questions in disbelief, unable to move from the spot he might as well make his own. He blinks as if she’s going to disappear, yet his eyes aren’t lying. He clamps his mouth shut and smiles properly.

It’s been a while since he’s seen Betty. Almost a year now, at the end of year party he got dragged to at the end of last summer. They were always close during school. Never the best of friends—other people tended to get in the way—but definitely more than acquaintances. They texted for the first few months of college, exchanging pleasantries every so often, but that dwindled off, as did most of Jughead’s former connections to this town.

Thinking back, he wishes he would’ve made more of an effort with her. Betty’s one of the good ones, he’s sure of that. 

(He wishes he would’ve done more than just make an effort to keep in contact with her. He wishes he would’ve made an effort when they lived in the same town. Asked to hang out more, get to know her more, follow through with those _almosts._

But he never did.)

“What are you going here so late?” he blurts out.

Luckily, she laughs. “Just after a milkshake.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can do that.”

He moves from where he’s standing, his comfort spot, and behind the counter. He walks almost robotically, finding himself automatically leaning to the vanilla ice cream.

He clears his throat. “Do you still want vanilla?”

“You remembered,” she whispers almost in disbelief. And then louder, “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

_I’ll always remember_ , sits on the edge of his tongue, but he swallows it down. Instead, he dumps two scoops of ice cream into the blender along with a glug of milk, letting the loud metallic noise drown out his thoughts. 

The thirty seconds it takes to blend up the milkshake feels like thirty minutes. Knowing Betty is here, behind him, watching on, is unsettling, to say the least. The year between them forces them a lifetime apart.

When he stops the blender, the silence is deafening.

He pours it into a glass, topping it with a swirl of whipped cream and a pinch of sprinkles. It’s what he would do for any other customer, but it feels different. 

He serves it with a genuine smile. Despite his whirlpool of thoughts about the past, he is happy to see Betty. He’ll never not be happy to see her, he thinks. Lingering feelings about a lifetime of missed moments tint the happiness, though. There’s always something.

“Thank you,” she says, hopping up onto the stool. She wraps her hand around the glass, and he tries not to think about how cold it is. 

An awkward silence hangs between them. Jughead doesn’t know what to say, even with a thousand things in his mind. 

Luckily, she speaks again, but it’s not a question he particularly wanted to hear. 

“How are things?” 

He shifts around, Pop’s words sticking with him. He’s never been one to lie in general, but lying to Betty is not something he’s ever done or ever wants to do.

So he tells the truth in a way he hopes makes light of the situation.

“I don’t know.” He moves his eyes to meet hers, curling his mouth into a small smile. “But a wise man once told me that you don’t need to know.”

She lets out a breathy laugh. “Pop?”

He nods. “How are things with you?”

“About the same, if I’m honest.” She pauses, taking a long sip of milkshake whilst maintaining eye contact. She swallows thickly. “I’m glad to be back.”

“Me too,” he says, and once again, he means it. That doesn’t stop the words from leaving a harsh taste in his mouth.

She smiles at him, one of those genuine smiles he knows is—well, _was_ —reserved for situations she really means it, where her eyes smile too and small crinkles form at the edges of her mouth. 

(A beautiful smile, he thinks. But he would.) And he smiles back, knowing the way he’s looking at her is with all the love he has. She doesn’t _know_ that, though. He wonders if she ever will, but eventually decides probably not. It doesn’t matter, those missed opportunities are in the past. All that matters is that she’s _here_ now. She’s here, and she’s talking to him.

“Wow,” a loud voice interrupts—Pop of course, “who have I got here?”

“Hi, Pop,” Betty says shyly. 

“Well, I must say I am very pleased to have my two favorite customers back.”

Jughead laughs. “I’m not a customer anymore so I guess Betty can have the title.”

She blushes. “There’s nothing better than a Pop’s milkshake.”

“Seconded.”

“You’re both my favorite,” Pop chuckles, patting Jughead on the shoulder. 

They talk about college while the diner is empty. Betty tells them about her course—journalism—in her usual upbeat way. He doesn’t detect any of that unsureness that she mentioned earlier, but then again, she has always been forced to give the most perfect recounts of her life. Old habits die hard, he guesses.

Listening to Betty speak like this throws Jughead back to last year, the last time he saw her. They were both tipsy—a rarity for him—and ended up having what some might call a heart to heart in the darkness of Veronica Lodge’s backyard. He thought it would be the final time he’d see her.

(He almost kissed her that night. Part of him still wishes he did, and part of him wonders if she’d let him if he tried today.)

She talks in an animated way, just like she did that day. Although that tinge of faux positivity is still evident, now he can notice the melancholy as before. 

Last year, she was sad to be leaving Riverdale, leaving everything she’s ever known behind. She spoke about how much she’d miss her friends, especially him, and she wondered if she was doing the right thing. 

Now, she speaks as if she still wonders the same. 

(And he wonders if he could get her to talk to him again like she did that day. If he could help her like she helped him.)

The bell of the door interrupts both his thoughts and their conversation. 

“I’ll go,” he says to Pop, walking towards the booth where the customer sits down before he can say anything. 

–

Betty makes a habit of popping into the diner every night. She’ll sit at the counter, looking distractingly beautiful, and sip a milkshake he makes especially for her. They’ll chat as if they were never apart, just like two old friends, but there’s something unsaid between them. 

Jughead racks his brain to try and work out what it is. Maybe it’s the reason she’s there, the reason she continues to go every single night. He simply does not know.

(There’s a distinct glint of hope in the way he looks over at her with a lopsided grin every time the bell signals her arrival. He doesn’t want it, he doesn’t want faux hope, but that’s what she does to him.)

Working every night for five nights in a row would usually take its toll on someone, but for Jughead, he finds comfort in the routine. Comfort in how he knows that he can join his father and JB for dinner at their stupidly big table meant for a family bigger than 3 before heading out to start work at 10. He knows Betty will arrive sometime near 12, keeping him and Pop company during the diner’s down hours. He knows Pop doesn’t mind them talking, as long as everything gets done by the time he leaves. 

He likes the monotony of it all. 

But that doesn’t stop Pop from insisting he takes Sunday night off. 

If he’s honest, he needs the sleep, and his eyes need a break from staring at the neon illumination of the diner. 

(But he’ll miss Betty.

And when he gets told on Monday night that she came in looking for him, disappointed when he wasn’t there, he’ll feel a small part of his heart splinter.)

Despite that, the time is spent being destroyed by JB at Mario Kart and getting a well-needed full night’s sleep that isn’t during daylight hours.

When he wakes up on Monday afternoon, he feels more rested than he has in a while. Night shifts might not take a toll on him as much as they could, but college sure does, and as it so happens being back in Riverdale is acting as more of a break than he ever could’ve imagined.

For the first time in a long while, Jughead gets straight up when he wakes. He takes a shower, gets dressed into a clean t-shirt and pants he really needs to wash but is overly attached to. 

In the pocket of said pants is a folded piece of paper. He takes it out, having already forgotten what it was, only to find the Pop’s menu he was writing on the day Betty came in.

He has a wave of inspiration. 

He fumbles for a pen in the top of his drawer. Praising his past self for not sorting this shit before he left for college, he finds one, and he just _writes._

He finds himself having far too much to say. He writes about golds and blues and greens. He writes about a soft neon glow, a vanilla milkshake, and the comfort there is in monotony. 

By the time he’s finished, the menu is covered in his scrawny handwriting, words finally written _for_ him through choice instead of because he _had_ to.

(That’s the effect happiness can have, he thinks, but corrects himself. No, that’s the effect time can have. Time to heal, time to understand, time to learn.

Time to find a source of inspiration.)

He feels like a new person. One that got that break, got that routine back. One that is learning it’s okay not to know, right in the place that made him feel like he had to.

They say you won’t find happiness in the same place you lost it, but sometimes you need to confront your past to be able to move on from it.

–

That evening, FP gives Jughead a ride to work.

“This job’s good for you, huh?” he asks. “You seem happier in yourself.”

Jughead hums in agreement. “The routine is good.”

“I’m glad, boy.”

_Yeah_ , he thinks, _me too._

“Dad?” he says after a moment in a small voice that makes him feel like a child.

“Yeah?”

_It’s now or never._

He takes a deep breath to calm himself. It doesn’t word, but he pushes on. “Would you be disappointed if I… didn’t go back to college?” There’s a moment of silence, so he continues nervously. “Or, you know, transferred, or continued online. I don’t know yet, but I didn’t realize how much I didn’t like—”

FP’s voice cuts through his ramble. “Jughead.” Stopped at a red light, he risks a glance over towards him. “I’ll be proud of you no matter what you choose to do.”

His eyes unexpectedly fill with tears. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispers.

Feeling lighter already, Jughead allows himself to be in awe of the way his father has changed over the years. He smiles to himself, finally able to shake off some of that long-held resentment.

They spend the rest of the short journey in a comfortable silence until FP pulls into the illuminated parking lot.

“Jug?” he says, reaching out to touch his arm as he goes to get out of the car. He looks back. “Talk to me more, yeah?”

Jughead nods without hesitation. He never would’ve before, but now it seems like a no-brainer.

“Now go and help Pop.”

He smiles. “See you later.”

As he walks towards the door, he feels a weight being lifted off his shoulders. 

A similar weight comes crashing back down when he sees Veronica Lodge and her cape leaning over the counter, engaged in a seemingly friendly conversation with Pop.

(It’s at that point that Jughead wonders if Betty knows she’s back. Or if she’ll stay long enough to bump into her.

It also crosses his mind that he’s never been in the diner without Pop here.)

Veronica turns around, assumingly at the ringing of the bell, blinking in shock when her eyes meet his. 

_“Jughead?”_

He smiles awkwardly. “Hi, Veronica.”

“Wow, Betty _was_ telling the truth.”

He tilts his head to the side, lifting his arms up. “Uh, yeah. Here I am.”

“Oh my god!” She runs the short distance to where he is seemingly stuck to the floor and wraps her arms around him. “It’s so good to see you!”

_Is it?_ he almost says in reply. Instead, he brings his hand up to pat her on the back. “Uh, yeah, you too,” he mutters. He catches Pop’s eye, who is laughing softly, presumably at his uncomfortableness. 

Veronica untangles herself from him and steps back, giving him an opportunity to get a look at her. If he’s honest, she hasn’t changed much in a year. Neither has he, he supposes. She looks as elegant as she always did. Her dark hair flows neatly down to her shoulders, sitting atop her signature cape. She doesn’t look older or more mature like he expected, but she always was more adult than the rest of their grade. 

“You look well,” he offers, because she _does_. 

“As do you.”

He can’t help but laugh. “Well, I’ve been better.”

She smiles. “We all have.”

In all honesty, he’s lost for words. There’s a silence between them that isn’t exactly awkward, but not entirely comfortable either. He feels like he should fill it, maybe ask some questions, but it’s at that moment that he remembers he’s meant to be working.

He shuffles forward over towards the counter. “I better…” he trails off, gesturing vaguely behind him. 

“Yeah, me too.” She clears her throat. “Good to see you both.” 

And with that, she’s gone, leaving the diner empty bar for a couple lost to their own bubble.

“Wow,” Jughead says, shrugging on his apron, “I never thought I’d see her again.”

“Life is full of surprises,” Pop says with a heartfelt smile. 

_It sure is_.

“Hey, Pop?”

He turns back to face Jughead.

“Do you ever go home?”

He shrugs. “The diner is my home.”

–

Midnight rolls around in a flash. For some reason, there’s a swarm of coffee addicts at around 11, keeping Jughead on his toes and distracted away from thinking about either the strange interaction with Veronica or Betty. So when the friendly face of the latter girl walks in, albeit late, Jughead is a little taken aback.

Tonight, her hair is down, curling gently in a way that frames her face. She has makeup on, unlike usual. It’s natural and barely noticeable, but of course, Jughead notices. And she’s wearing a dress. Her usual casual attire has been replaced with a silver flowy dress. She looks undeniably beautiful.

(A work of Veronica Lodge, he thinks. Not that she _needs_ Veronica to make her look beautiful. She always looks beautiful.)

He’s so distracted by her that he forgets he’s in the middle of serving a customer until the person in question clears their throat and shoots him a look.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Betty laughing at him as she slides into her usual seat at the counter. That makes him speed up his serving of the annoyed-looking customer, muttering a _sorry_ as he speeds through pouring coffee so he can jog back over to Betty.

“Hi,” she grins.

“You look incredible,” he blurts out, almost dropping the cafetiere. He’s surprised at his own boldness, but he can’t bring himself to regret it.

She ducks her head, a deep blush covering her face, and he changes his mind.

“Fuck. I’m sorry.”

Shaking her head, she slowly looks back up at him. “I was out with Veronica.”

He nods. “She was here when I arrived for work. She _hugged_ me?”

Betty laughs. “Wow. Your poor bad boy, loner persona.”

With a loud gasp that attracts the attention of the customer he already managed to annoy, he clutches his chest in faux hurt. “You wound me, Cooper.”

“Where’s my milkshake, then?” she teases, a glint in her eye.

_Wow_. She must be out to kill him tonight. 

“I’m on it.” He offers her a two-finger salute before turning around to get to work.

Making a milkshake is something he’s done many times. Making a milkshake for Betty is something he’s done many times recently, too. But there’s an air of pressure he feels while making this one. Knowing she’s watching him, knowing she _heard_ what he said, something he possibly shouldn’t have said. 

He let his guard down. He’s always letting his guard down with Betty but it could unknowingly destroy this sort-of friendship they’ve managed to recover over the past week.

“Here you go,” he says with shaky hands and a shaky smile. 

She smiles back, nodding her thanks.

“I’d better—” He gestures aimlessly, hoping she understands the implication of _do some actual work_ , rather than the _leave you to it because you might possibly hate me right now_ he’s really feeling.

She nods again, wrapping her slightly glossy lips around the straw of her milkshake.

( _Fuck_ , he thinks, roughly rubbing his eyes as he turns away from her. He internally curses himself for thinking anything even remotely inappropriate about her, wishing he could erase the image she’d unintentionally forced upon him from his brain.)

There are always tables that need cleaning, so Jughead takes his ratty cloth and the disinfectant spray over to the far corner. As he’s wiping down the table he’s sure he did only half an hour ago, he sees Pop talking to Betty. He feels less bad for practically abandoning her.

Every single table in the diner is empty by the time he finishes cleaning all of the decidedly not dirty ones, so he moves onto cleaning the ones that actually need cleaning. He scrubs them until his hands hurt, replacing the menus, placing shiny cutlery at each possible place. 

It’s not necessary, he knows that. Hell, Pop has told him on multiple occasions that it isn’t, but he does it anyway. It gives him something to do at the quiet times, and a distraction for the rest of the time. 

Once the tables are up to his own super high standards, he goes to start on the counter.

“Jughead,” Pop calls.

He looks up to see Pop standing by Betty. 

“Are you alright to keep this one company while I take 10?”

“Whatever you want, boss,” he says with a grin.

“Now, now, no need to call me that,” he chuckles, waving Jughead off. “I’ll be back soon.” When Pop leaves, there’s an uncomfortable silence that hangs over the diner. Jughead doesn’t know whether to talk to Betty or carry on avoiding her by cleaning the pattern off of the counter.

But with the time getting on, he’s not sure she’ll be staying much longer.

Nor want to.

He swallows thickly. “Uh, don’t think you have to stay just because I’m alone,” he says, his quiet voice cutting through the air between them as he steps tentatively towards her.

“I want to stay.” 

“Oh.”

“I mean, uh—” she stumbles on her words “—um, obviously unless you don’t want me here.” She giggles nervously, pushing a fallen strand of hair behind her ear.

(He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about doing that for her.)

He fiddles with the damp cloth he didn’t realize he was still holding. “No, I– I’d like you to stay.”

The smile she gives him in response could serve to light up the whole of the town. 

“Okay then,” she says, “I’ll take your finest coffee, please.”

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Of course, ma’am.” 

Pouring two cups of coffee under her watchful gaze is somehow more intense than making the milkshake was. Maybe it’s the danger of the boiling liquid, or maybe it’s just _her_.

He slides a cup towards her along with the jug of milk and a few sachets of sugar, grabbing his own cup and taking a sip. The liquid burns his tongue, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“You drink coffee _black?”_ she exclaims, pouring what must be half a jug of milk into her cup.

“Black like my soul,” he mutters, moving the stool next to her around the corner of the counter so he can sit down while still keeping watch on the door. Not that he needs to; they have a bell for a reason.

She laughs. “You forget that I _know_ you.” She rips open a packet of sugar, dumping its contents into her coffee. “Your soul isn’t black.”

He rolls his eyes. “Let me live, Cooper. At least I don’t have—” He pauses to count the empty sugar packets. “ _Four?_ Did you really put four sugars in your coffee?”

She shrugs. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh, sure.” He tilts his head in confusion, gripping his mug with all his mite. 

“I don’t really like coffee.”

Jughead blinks in confusion. “You… Wait, _what?_ Why are you drinking it then?”

“The milk and sugar masks the taste.” She takes a sip, almost as if to prove a point, but her face fails her. “Caffeine, I guess.”

“You know we do, like, tea,” he says with a laugh, “or even, I don’t know, _soda_.”

Her eyes drop from his, seemingly focused on a staredown with the coffee. 

He softens his voice. “I’m sorry.” Although what for, he’s not sure. 

(For upsetting her, he eventually decides. Even if he’s not convinced he did upset her, he thinks he said it just to make sure she knows he’s sorry for some unspoken thing. 

Everything between them feels unspoken.) She shakes her head and sighs. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

In reality, it could be stupid. He knows this. But he also knows that’s not what she wants to hear, so he makes himself feel stupid by telling her it isn’t stupid. 

Really, though, deep down, he believes it won’t be stupid. Betty doesn’t do stupid.

(The thought of _Betty doesn’t do you_ crosses his mind, and he swears he doesn’t mean it how it sounds. Just… she’s intelligent, she’s beautiful, and he’s just, well, _stupid_.)

She takes a deep breath, and mumbles, “I wanted coffee because I know you like coffee.”

Oh.

Not only is that decidedly not stupid, but it’s also not at all what he was expecting.

And of course, he doesn’t know what to say in reply.

_And_ he’s blushing. 

Fuck.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he says, unable to hold back a grin, “but you really don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it.”

She meets his eye again, smiling bashfully. “I’ll keep it this time.”

There’s a silence that falls over them, leaving him time to think about the unsaid while she drops her gaze back to her drink. It’s a comfortable silence, really, where they both allow the harsh yet comforting nature of the early hours to sit between them and become all-consuming. 

Or, well, that’s what Jughead does. From Betty’s glazed-over look, he’d hazard a guess at her doing the same.

Working nights has of course meant he’s quickly grown accustomed to the darkness and the soft neon glow being one of the only sources of light at such an hour. Undoubtedly, Betty has too. He wonders if she finds the same comfort in it as he does, or if there’s another reason she chooses to be out at this hour. 

He wonders why she isn’t home. He wonders where home is for her.

(Does she have a home? Not a house, but a _home_.)

The only way to find out is to ask her, he supposes. 

“Where are you living these days?” He tries to sound upbeat, like he’s genuinely interested—because he _is_ —rather than just being nosey or making idle conversation.

She blinks a few times as if she’s trying to clear her eyes to focus on him. “Uh, I’m staying with Veronica actually.”

He nods. “Is that…” He trails off, not sure how to say _is that why you’re here all the time?_ without sounding rude.

She catches on. “Partly.” 

He nods again. He nods again because words apparently aren’t his strong suit, at least not speaking them.

“It was at first,” she continues, her voice small and gentle and comforting, “but then _you_ were here and… that changed everything.”

“Why?” he blurts out without a second thought. He avoids her eyes like they’re the plague, mainly because he knows if he looks into them, he’ll say something truly stupid. 

There’s a moment's pause before she answers. “I think you know why.”

The urge to look up at her is too strong. When his eyes meet hers, he melts. He melts into himself.

_Yes,_ he wants to say, _I do know why._

But does he? 

(He knows what he hopes she means. But there’s that part of him that’s working to convince himself that what he hopes is different from her reasoning. What he hopes is simply just that: a hope.)

So he doesn’t say anything. He moves his eyes away from hers, dropping them to the counter he probably should be cleaning or something, and shakes his head ever so slightly.

“Jug.” 

Before he knows it, her hand is resting on his arm and his eyes shoot back up to look at her. It’s against his better judgment once again.

He sighs. “I want to know why.”

“You already do.”

He blinks back tears. He doesn’t want to do this, not here, not now. They’d created something good here. A friendship. S _omething_ always between them yet forever unsaid. As much as part of him wants to say it, wants to scream it from the rooftops, he can’t. Their perfectly constructed temporary friendship is not worth ruining.

Except, maybe it is. Maybe that’s what she’s getting at. Maybe after all this time, it is worth it. 

(She’ll always be worth it.)

“I want you to say it,” he chokes out. “Please.”

“Because it felt right, Jug. It felt right seeing you again, no matter how long I spent trying to tell myself it didn’t.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “It felt right despite everything that happened.”

It’s the first time either of them has acknowledged a past between them. A history between two friends, forever skirting back and forth over the line of _more_ , never fully committing yet never letting go either.

It wasn’t her fault, what happened back then. But it wasn’t his, either. Some things just are. 

He nods at her. He always fucking nods. He nods because he doesn’t know what else to do or say but he nods because he _agrees_. He doesn’t want to, he didn’t want to, but he does.

“Why didn’t you ask me out in high school, Jug?” 

She says it so quietly he’s not sure if he’s meant to hear it. Or if she wanted him to.

(Or if she said it at all.)

He answers anyway.

“Because there were always other people.” 

Busying himself with sipping the coffee he forgot about, he’s somehow still surprised when it’s almost cold. It represents his life in a way: good for just a short time, yet always manages to disappoint in the end.

(A distant part of his brain wonders when Pop will come back, or if another customer will appear.)

When she doesn’t say anything, he continues. 

“I tried, Betty, I tried for years. I wanted nothing more, but it never felt like the right time.”

Tears run down her face. “And now?”

“I thought this was temporary.”

“What if it’s not?”

“Then I think I’m too late.”

A heavy silence sits between them, one that could be filled with white noise if it weren't for the emptiness of the night. Neither says anything, both too preoccupied with avoiding looking at one another.

(Jughead wonders if he’s messed up entirely to get her to never want to see him again. He hopes not, of course, but maybe it’s what he deserves.)

Fortunately—in one way, unfortunately in a lot of others—Pop walks through the back door, slicing through the silence of the room. He’s completely oblivious to what he’s interrupting, but it may be for the best.

“Hello, kids,” he beams.

Jughead notices Betty plaster on her best fake smile, quickly wiping away the dampness from her face, while he scrambles up to at least pretend he’s working. 

“Don’t worry, Jughead, I know there isn’t much to do at this time.”

He doesn’t say anything for fear of messing up further, simply sending a smile in Pop’s direction. As a distraction away from Betty, he takes his half-empty coffee cup to the sink in the far corner, dumping the rest of the liquid down the drain. 

(The Coca-Cola clock on the wall lit only by the diner’s neon lights reads 3:10. He still has almost 3 hours left at work, and all he wants to do is curl up into a ball and sleep.)

He spins back around to face those he’s avoiding to see Betty standing up. Her dress flows down to the floor, heels making her slightly taller than usual. She looks out of place, even more so now the diner is empty. She’s so beautiful, too beautiful for a greasy American diner.

“I’ll see you both soon,” she says as she grabs a $10 bill out of her glittery clutch bag and hands it to Pop, who busies himself at the till.

As he watches her walk towards the door, he can’t help but call out after her. “Betty?”

She stops in her tracks, turning to face him.

“Was I right?”

She shakes her head, hesitating for a moment before opening the door and walking away.

The usually familiar and comforting sound of the bell makes him want to punch the wall. Or run after her. Or maybe both. (Definitely both.)

– 

Jughead works the rest of the week without seeing Betty once. She doesn’t follow her usual routine of coming in for a specially made milkshake at around midnight, nor does she turn up later. (That in itself is unsettling for Jughead. He begins to miss the new normal he’d so quickly gotten used to.)

He takes the next Sunday night off, as per Pop’s request, and spends it moping. He spends it moping and contemplating the next steps in his life. Summer may be going slowly so far, but he knows better than most how quickly it can go. 

He thinks about staying here in Riverdale. It’s not what he wants, not really, but maybe it’s what he needs. He can’t deny how nice it is to be back with his family, despite not feeling at _home_. Maybe that’s the comfort he needs.

Then he thinks about going back. Back to the big city that makes him feel lost in a way Riverdale has never. 

In the end, he decides that he doesn’t know.

_You don’t have to know_ , he remembers. But he wants to know.

He wants to talk to Betty. Betty always knew how to help him.

( _Maybe she’s the home you’re so desperate to find_ , he thinks for a second. But he shuts down that thought as quickly as it came into his mind.)

On Monday night, he goes to work early. 

He arrives before 9, much to the surprise of Pop, and sits in the booth hidden by the darkness of the corner.

“You don’t start for another hour,” Pop points out with a confused smile, standing at the head of the table.

Jughead shakes his head. “I’m here for dinner.”

“Ah, wonderful! What can I get you?”

He orders something different. Or something as different as you can get in a diner with a limited menu. A double cheeseburger with a side of fries, a side of onion rings, and a soda. Pop brings everything in a matter of minutes, leaving him to make his way through it all before his shift.

Shoving a handful of fries into his mouth, he digs out a pen from his pocket. He flips over the menu, and starts writing, despite everything in him telling him not to. Writing makes him feel better once he gets into it, and what he wants right now is to feel better. 

Of course, the mountains of food helps, too.

(Betty would help even further.

Around half an hour later, he gets his wish.)

Lost in the world of his own words, Jughead barely notices when someone slides into the other side of the booth until a _hi_ is whispered. His eyes shoot up to see Betty, dressed in her usual attire, smiling at him. 

He furrows his eyebrows. “What are you doing here?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to come out as harsh as it does, but luckily, she doesn’t seem too taken aback by it.

“I wanted to see you.”

His lips twitch upwards ever so slightly like it’s an automatic reaction to _her_ and he can’t help it. 

“What are you doing?” she asks, fiddling with the end of her ponytail.

“Trying to write.”

_“Trying?”_

He nods. “It’s not so easy these days.”

A flicker of something he can’t decipher runs across her face. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says with a hint of sadness. She doesn’t make any effort to move, eyes falling to stare at the table.

“No,” he says, reaching his hand aimlessly over the table. “Please stay.”

She looks directly at him and smiles. “Okay.”

He puts his pen down, folding up the menu and pocketing them both so his full attention is on her. “I, uh, I’m sorry about last week,” he murmurs, wondering if it’s the right thing to say.

“Me too,” she hums.

Smiling again, he lets out a breathy laugh. “I’m bad at this.”

Again, he doesn’t know why he says it. It’s _true_ , but he’s unsure if she’ll know what he means or not.

(She does.)

“I don’t think you are.”

He sighs. “I don’t know what you want, Betty.”

“What if I just want you?”

He looks down at his hands and fiddles with his thumbs. “I don’t know,” he whispers.

“There sounds like there’s a ‘but’.”

“There is.”

She huffs out a laugh. “What is it?”

He looks up, meeting her eyes. They’re beautiful, but of course they are. They’re a soft green color, so unique and so _her_. Everything about her is beautiful. 

“But I want to know,” he finishes quietly.

“Me too.” She moves her hand towards him, leaving it face-up in the middle of the table, waiting, expecting, hoping.

In response, he places his hand in hers and squeezes gently. “I want to work it out together.”

–

Betty stays for the whole of his shift that night. 

Well, she tries.

She swaps between sitting up at the counter, grinning at him every time he looks at her, following him around as he cleans the tables, and occasionally stopping to talk to Pop. Every single time Jughead notices her near him, he smiles. He cannot physically stop the smile that spreads across his face.

It’s just after 1, and the diner is, of course, empty. Jughead is cleaning the glass of the pie cabinet when he looks up at her, grinning.

“What?” she asks even though her face mirrors his. 

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing.”

She laughs. “Really?”

“You’re pretty,” he says, glad Pop is out of earshot, although he’s sure he must’ve noticed the change in both of their behaviors by now.

Blushing, she ducks her head and mumbles, “Thank you.”

“I mean it,” he says, shrugging again before getting back to work.

“Jug?” she calls.

He looks back.

“I’m glad you came back,” she says, “and I’m glad you changed your mind.”

“Me too, Betts, me too.”

(The old nickname just slips out, but it feels right in every way.)

–

Hours later, at half 4, Jughead catches Betty yawning over a mug of half-drank coffee she insisted she wanted. Normally by this time, she would’ve left and been tucked up in Veronica’s spare room. Today, after reassuring him she wanted to stay, she’s still at the diner, head leaning against the side of a booth. 

There is one other customer, who Pop is tending to, but Jughead knows soon the early breakfast rush will start, and he won’t have as much time to keep an eye on her and keep her company. 

“Please go home, Betty,” he says, whining ever so slightly. “You need to sleep.”

She shakes her head as if she’s in slow motion, eyes barely open.

“Yes.”

When she doesn’t reply, stubbornly staying seated, Jughead jogs over to Pop.

“Would you mind if I take 10 before breakfast?” he asks. “I know it’s almost the end of my shift but I just want to get Betty home and I’ll make it—”

“Jughead,” he interrupts with a small smile, “take your girl home.” “She’s not…” He trails off, distracted by Betty out of the side of his eye. She’s half-asleep, but smiling at him, a softness on her face. “Thanks, Pop.”

Jughead hops back over to Betty, undoing his apron and shoving it behind the counter on the way. “Hey,” he whispers, resting his hand on her shoulder.

She looks up at him and rubs her eyes. “What’s going on?”

“I’m taking you home. Pop says I can take a break.”

This time, she doesn’t argue, simply nodding and holding out her hand for him, which he takes, ignoring Pop’s knowing gaze as they walk out the door hand in hand.

As they walk the thankfully short distance to Veronica’s house—one the Lodge’s have occupied for as long as he can remember—Betty leans her head against his shoulder. It makes it difficult to walk, but she’s so fucking cute and he can’t bring himself to ask her to move. He’s been wishing for moments like this for as long as he can remember, so he sure as hell is going to enjoy it whilst it lasts.

“Hey,” he whispers, “are you okay?”

She nods against his shoulder. “You smell nice.”

He almost bursts out laughing. “I smell like grease.”

“No, you smell like _you_.”

He grins like an idiot for the rest of the journey.

(He wishes the walk was longer. Having her lean on him like this makes his heart flutter in a way he wasn’t sure was possible.)

When they reach Veronica’s, she inevitably moves off of him.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

He lets go of her hand, albeit very reluctantly, and gestures in the direction that came from. “I’d better get back to work.”

“Wait!” She grabs his hand. “Can I… kiss you?”

He’d been waiting for her to ask for years. “Yes.”

At the same time, they move forward. His spare hand comes up to cup her face, with hers mirroring his actions. He leans into her touch and moves in to press his lips against hers. It’s gentle, only lasting a couple of seconds, but it’s enough to set his heart racing. 

When they lean back, he has a disbelieving grin on his face. “Wow,” he whispers.

“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to do that forever.”

He nods. “Me too.”

Against his better judgment—mainly because he’s due back at work—he leans back in and presses a second kiss to her lips. He lets her kiss back for just long enough to make him want to quit his job and stay here kissing her all day.

She moves away from him, smiling sheepishly. “You should go.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “I’ll see you later?”

“Definitely,” he grins, pressing a final chaste kiss against her lips. “Goodnight, Betty.”

“Goodnight, Jug.”

He walks back to Pop’s with an unmoving grin on his face and an uncharacteristic spring in his step.

When he gets there—just a few minutes later than expected—a few more tables are occupied. Pop sends him a knowing smirk, as if it’s written all over his face. 

He gets back to work, finally the happy, smiley server he should be.

–

Naturally, Jughead sleeps for most of Tuesday. He sleeps and he thinks of Betty, so really, nothing different to usual. 

Once his body decides to stop sleeping, he allows himself some writing time. It’s becoming something of a habit again, but an enjoyable one this time.

(He’s sure it’s not all Betty, but she certainly has had a part to play.

He’ll thank her later.)

After a much-needed shower spent brainstorming some more ideas, he heads downstairs to see if his dad and JB are in. And to find some food. He doesn’t fail to notice the slight spring in his step as he bounds downstairs.

As it is, both of them are.

“Hey,” he says as he walks into the living area, where the pair of them are sitting on the sofa playing what looks like Mario Kart.

JB doesn’t reply, evidently far too into the game to notice him enter the room, and FP murmurs, “Jug! Sit!”

So he does. He squeezes himself onto the edge of the sofa and gets immersed in the world of Mario Kart.

(It works as a good distraction from his thoughts. Not that his thoughts are bad today, but he’s sure he’ll manage to give himself away with his goofy lopsided smile if he keeps thinking about Betty and kissing her. _Fuck_ , he kissed Betty Cooper.)

JB—who still seemingly hasn’t noticed his existence in this room—is playing as Princess Peach and is surprisingly good. Jughead watches as she drifts her kart around the corner to overtake FP, playing as Waluigi, into first place. FP groans loudly while JB cheers triumphantly. 

Jughead just laughs. And for the first time, he feels like he belongs. 

When JB crosses the finish line in first and FP in fourth, Jughead leans over his father to poke his sister in the side. “Well done, sis,” he grins, “and sorry, Dad, but she got you good there.”

JB beams back at him. “I did, didn’t I?”

FP shakes his head defeatedly. “Jug, you want a go?” Before he has a chance to answer, JB is shrieking at the idea. “Yes, Jug, c’mon!”

He gives in, naturally. “Okay. Prepare for defeat, little sis.”

She holds her hand out. “Maybe the best Jones win.”

He shakes it before taking the controller from FP. He picks Mario himself to help him steal the title, and JB insists they play one of the most difficult tracks on the game: Rainbow Road.

Almost immediately, Jughead slips into second place with JB in a disappointing twelfth after sliding off the edge twice. FP apparently can’t decide which of his children to support, so swaps between “Go Jughead!” and “C’mon, Jelly!” which Jughead can fully understand. 

On the third and final lap, Jughead is way out in front, JB trailing behind in second, when FP jolts him. “Blue shell!” he bellows. “Blue shell, Jug!”

But there’s nothing he can do. The shell hits him, letting a beaming JB eloquently glide past his spinning car. 

“Jelly, you little shit!” Jughead gasps, giggling. 

She hums to herself as she drives across the finish line, once again coming in first place. “Take that, big bro.”

“Ugh,” Jughead says, slouching back into the sofa as he rumbles over the line in fifth. “Fuck.”

He half-expects a _language, Jughead,_ but of course, it doesn’t come. What does come is a roaring laugh and a pat on the back. “Oh well, Jug.”

“Good game, _bro_ ,” she teases.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

She pokes her tongue out at him like a child before turning to FP and asking, “Can me and Jug cook dinner again?” 

FP looks between his children. “Depends what’s on the menu.” An hour later, the kitchen is, again, a complete and utter mess. As per JB’s request, they are attempting to make spaghetti bolognese. And Jughead honestly cannot for the life of him work out how they’re managed to fuck it up so badly. 

For how much the Jones family like food, they really _cannot_ cook. Not in any way, shape, or form.

Just as he catches the pot of water from boiling over, he feels his usually-unused phone vibrate in his pocket. JB seems busy poking at the beef, so he pulls it out and checks it.

_Hey!_ it reads. _It’s Betty. You’re working tonight, right? I want to see you._

A huge smile involuntarily tugs at his lips. 

_As always,_ he replies and sends. A few seconds later, he types _I want to see you too._

_I’ll be there,_ she sends back and he smiles again, even bigger this time.

“Oi,” JB says, poking his arm, “what’s that smile for?”

He shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Nothing. How’s the bolognese?”

She tuts. “Is it your _girlfriend?”_ she teases in a sing-song voice. “Has Jughead got a girlfriend?”

“No,” he mutters. And luckily, she drops it, turning her attention back to the frying pan when it starts to sizzle. 

(Her words do get him thinking, though. They’ve only kissed a few times, but by the sounds of things, Betty isn’t exactly averse to doing it again. But… is it too soon to put a label on things? Does she just want something casual? Or does she want more?

He starts to worry that they aren’t on the same page.)

Dinner ends up being a mild success once FP steps in and shows them how to cook spaghetti. They eat together as a family, something Jughead has surprisingly begun to enjoy over the weeks. It reminds him of what he could’ve had, but he’s learning to be grateful for what he has now instead. (It only works some of the time, though it’s a step in the right direction.)

After dinner, he and JB tidy up, laughing and poking fun at each other as they go. As he washes the dishes, he takes a handful of washing-up foam and blows it in her face just to see her laugh. Their relationship is that of a typical sibling duo, one he’s glad to finally have again, so when she laughs, he feels as if he’s succeeding as a big brother.

He walks to his shift on his own tonight, turning down the offer of a lift from FP. He’s grateful, to be honest, for some quiet alone time. As nice as it is to spend the day with his family, he wants to be alone with his thoughts before he has to face Pop. 

It’s not that _facing Pop_ ever has been, or will be, a bad thing, it’s just… Jughead has managed to convince himself that he will have noticed _something_ about him and Betty. Especially if she’s visiting him again tonight. And he doesn’t want to jump the gun if Pop asks anything before they can have the inevitable label conversation.

(Part of him is scared about broaching the subject, though. What if it ruins everything?)

He arrives at work early, as usual, hoping to have enough time to sneak in a milkshake before he starts. When he walks through the door, ringing bell alerting everyone of his arrival, not one, not two, but three familiar faces are staring at him. 

One, of course, is Pop, taking his usual position behind the counter, greeting him with a grin. That’s Pop’s signature greeting, Jughead has realized over the years. 

The second is Betty. Again, unsurprisingly, really. She’s seated on _her_ usual stool at the counter. The surprise is next to her: Veronica. Again.

If he’s being honest, seeing Veronica here isn’t _really_ a surprise. Maybe more of a… not what he wanted. She’s nice enough, sure, but her meddling is _not_ what he wants right now. He remembers what she was like in high school, so he cannot even begin to imagine what she’s like now.

(What if Betty’s told her about _them?_ Assuming there is a _them_ to tell. Perhaps more importantly, _what_ has Betty told her?)

He tries to play it cool, he really does, but when he looks at Betty, that stupid smile spreads across his face.

“Hello again, Jones,” Veronica says, snapping him out of his stupidity. “Long time, no see, and all that jazz.” “Uh, hey, Veronica,” he says, hand flying up to fiddle with the hem of his beanie that no longer sits atop his head.

(Getting rid of the beanie took a lot of contemplation. He spoke in detail about it with Betty at that final summer party, and eventually, decided he’d be better off without it. Occasionally he regrets that decision.)

He steps towards the three of them, suddenly deciding that getting straight to work 15 minutes early would be better than enduring any more awkward small talk with Veronica, even though a milkshake would be involved. As he goes to walk behind the counter, he hears Veronica and Pop chatting away and feels a hand touch his arm.

When his head jerks around, Betty is smiling at him.

“Hey,” she whispers, “can I borrow you for a second?”

Swallowing thickly, he nods. “Yeah.”

She stands up, gesturing outside with her hand. He nods again. “I’ll be back before my shift, Pop,” he says almost pointlessly as he follows Betty outside. 

She leads him around the corner, out of view from the main diner, and grabs his hand. “I’m sorry about Veronica.”

He dismisses her apology. “Are you okay, though?”

“Yeah.” She pauses to smile. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

As they lock eyes, he makes a split decision. He brings a hand up to cup her cheek, moving forward ever so slowly to connect their lips. Eyes fluttering closed, he basks in the softness of her lips against his. They move in tangent, her hand coming up to grip his arm as he deepens the kiss. 

Breathless, he pulls back with a soft sigh.

“That was nice,” she says, blushing.

“It was,” he agrees with a smile. 

(It’s now or never, he thinks.)

His face drops, eyes moving from her face to the floor. “Hey, uh, can I ask you something?” “Of course.”

He swallows down his nerves, gently tracing her jawline with his fingertip. “I really like you, Betty,” he says, meeting her eyes, “and I have done for a while.” “I like you, too, Jug.”

He sighs. “But how far does that go?”

Her face screws up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Hand dropped from her face, he begins shifting around on the spot. “Is this… temporary? I mean, college and… life.” He shrugs in the hope that she’ll understand. 

“Jughead.” Her voice is firm, certain, but with that edge of softness he’s grown fond of. And she gives him a look as she lightly pinches his chin. 

He can’t help but laugh. 

She rolls her eyes affectionately. “Jughead, I really like you. I have done for a while.”

It’s good to hear, but it doesn’t stop his brain from racing. Apparently, he can’t detach his brain from his mouth, either. 

“But what about college? This is just summer and–“

She cuts him off with a kiss. The gentle pressure of her lips moving against his clears his brain of any lingering doubts until all he can focus on is _her_. She traces the seam of his lips and it takes everything in him to let it pass and pull away. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs against her lips, “work.”

Nodding, she takes a step back. “Does that answer your question?”

“Just one more,” he says, nibbling his bottom lip. “Are you my girlfriend?” 

She grins. “Of course, dumbass.” 

–

Two hours into his shift and two agonizing hours into sneaking looks at his _girlfriend_ , Veronica Lodge finally, _finally_ , leaves. He could tell Betty didn’t want to be the one to suggest leaving, catching her eye occasionally only for her to subtly roll her eyes. 

So when it nears midnight and he hears Veronica yawn over-exaggeratedly, he knows the time has come. He casually pretends to desperately need to clean the counter right near the girls, slowly spraying and wiping until it’s almost shining.

“Bettykins,” Veronica sighs, “let’s get home.” She stands up, holding a hand out to Betty, who shakes her head.

“Actually, I’m gonna stay here for a bit,” she says, meeting his eye for just a second. “Best time for working, you know.” 

Narrowing her eyes, Veronica glances between Betty and Jughead before they land on him. “You’ll keep an eye on her.” It comes out as more of a statement than a question.

Before he can answer, Pop interrupts. “Veronica, we always do. I’ll send Jughead to walk her home.”

She nods curtly. “Goodnight,” she says as she struts out of the door.

Once she’s left, Jughead can’t help but huff out a laugh. “Does she think she’s your mother or something?”

Betty shrugs. “She worries.” 

Jughead doesn’t think much of it, quickly distracted when another customer enters the diner. He doesn’t think much of it until later when Betty brings it up again as he’s making her a cup of tea.

(He’d bought a box of Earl Grey to keep for when she wanted caffeine, asking Pop to tell her he’s trialing it on the menu. He got a nod and a knowing smile in response.)

“Jug, I think Veronica is suspicious,” she says once Pop is out of earshot. “I think that’s why she stayed so long.”

Sliding the cup over to her, he hums in contemplation. 

She stirs in a glug of milk and a spoonful of sugar. “And then there’s Pop.”

Well, he can agree with that one. “What do you think…?”

“Veronica’s my best friend, but she—” Betty sighs “—she can get a bit much.”

That’s something everyone knows about Veronica Lodge. Once she gets a whiff of something she’s interested in—her best friend’s love life, Jughead assumes—she’ll want to take it over. He’s sure Betty would be bombarded with questions if she knew. 

(A voice in the back of his head asks _what would that do to us?_ Maybe it’s a selfish question. If she wants to tell her best friend, that’s fine, but this is all so _new_.)

He glances over to Pop, busy with another customer, and takes a risk. He rests his hand gently atop hers, using his other to tilt up her chin so she looks at him. 

“Betty,” he says as she meets his eyes, “I’m all in on this, okay? You do what you think is best and I’ll be here.”

She nods, smiling ever so slightly. “Me too.” 

Over in the corner, Pop laughs loudly, no doubt at something the customer just said. It makes Jughead jump, though, snatching his hands away from Betty. Luckily, she giggles.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. 

“Honestly, I don’t think we have to worry about Pop,” she reassures, “but I’ll hold off telling Veronica for a while.”

He breaths out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, Cooper.”

Jughead walks Betty home at 3 that night, thankful he saved up his full break so they can fully enjoy their alone time. They hold hands as they walk out of the diner, with Pop sending them what he’s sure is a _I’m not going to say anything_ yet _but I’m really happy for you_ smile.

Walking through the dimly lit streets of Riverdale, hand in hand with Betty Cooper, is not something Jughead ever thought he’d be doing. 

(Once upon a time, in a distant dream during those really lonely nights, he imagined them together in the city instead. Where they meet at college or at the local Starbucks. In his mind, Riverdale wasn’t the city for them. 

But after all, maybe he was wrong.)

She’s considerably less sleepy than the previous night, telling him a story from when they were younger. He listens closely as her excited voice relives a time from her childhood, his heart fluttering every time she giggles.

But when she mentions her mom, her whole demeanor changes. Her voice becomes flat, almost sad, and he feels the grip she has on his hand tighten. 

He stops in his tracks. “Hey, are you okay?”

She sighs. “Yeah. It’s just my mom, Jug. She forced me to go to college just so she could _move_. And now she doesn’t want anything to do with me.” She pauses, letting out an empty laugh. “I mean, the feeling is _mutual_. Yet she still manages to ruin my life from hours away.”

Jughead is a little dismayed if he’s honest. He didn’t quite realize the extent of the problems between Betty and her mom, and it makes him feel like a shit boyfriend.

(A shit _new_ boyfriend, but still a shit one.)

“What can I do to help?” he asks, threading their fingers together. 

Her face softens. “Nothing, Jug. You being here is enough.”

Instead of replying, he closes the gap between them, hoping a kiss will make her feel better instead.

(He knows it doesn’t work like that, but he can only hope.)

The rest of their short walk is spent in comfortable silence, hands clasped tightly together. He can tell she’s getting tired now from the way she leans slightly into him and slows her walk. Or maybe she’s trying to prolong their time together. He can understand that, too.

They come to a stop by the side of Veronica’s building. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go back to work,” he says, frowning.

“Me too,” she sighs. “But I’ll see you later, right?”

“Definitely.” He leans down to press a brief kiss against her lips. “Sleep well.”

She smiles sweetly. “You too.”

They bid farewell with a final kiss that leaves Jughead once again grinning like an idiot all the way back to the diner.

_(I love her,_ pops into his head as he’s walking. It almost physically stops him in his tracks, because does he? Does he really love her?

After just a second of contemplation, he decides that, yeah, yeah he does. And he thinks he has for a while, just without the use of such words.

_Fuck, I love her,_ circles around his mind for the rest of his shift.)

Arriving back at the diner, it is, as usual, empty except for Pop. Thinking about it, there probably isn’t much need for Jughead to work this shift, but that just shows him what kind of person Pop is. Caring and always looking out for other people.

Jughead resumes his position behind the counter, cleaning the already-spotless coffee machine. “Hey, Pop?” he says offhandedly. 

“Yes?”

“Thank you for giving me this job.”

“There will always be one for you here, Jughead.”

The sentiment hits him like a tonne of bricks. He manages to choke out a _thank you_ , focusing his attention on cleaning instead. 

“Come and sit down,” Pop says a moment later. 

He does, sliding onto the stool next to him, fiddling with the hem of his apron. “What’s up?”

“You and Betty, huh?”

“It’s not…” He cuts himself off with a smile. _I love her_. “Yeah, I guess,” he finishes with a small shrug.

Pop’s voice is nothing but gentle when he speaks. “I’ve watched you and her for years, Jughead. I’m glad you two managed to sort it out.”

“Me too.” “It took you long enough.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, yeah it did.”

That night when he finally returns to the comfort of his own room, he has just enough energy to write one line.

_I finally found my home in you._

.

.

.

_~fin_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! i really hoped you enjoyed it. as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated. i love reading your thoughts so please keep them coming <3
> 
> if you wanna talk season 5, come join me on [tumblr](https://fallout-mars.tumblr.com/)!


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